


Let Me Make You Anew

by blue_crow



Category: Deadly Premonition | Red Seeds Profile
Genre: Alcohol, D/s, M/M, Piano, Puzzles, Rhyme, Tattoos, Vouyerism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-15
Updated: 2010-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 23:10:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_crow/pseuds/blue_crow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas receives a mysterious invitation to the Stewart mansion, but when he arrives, the mansion is deserted, and handwritten clues are all he can find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Make You Anew

Thomas MacLaine parked the squad car before the imposing wrought-iron gates of the Stewart mansion and exited his vehicle, crossing to the guard tower. The security camera adjusted until it craned down to focus in on him, and Mr. Stewart's butler's authoritative voice crackled through the speaker.

"Mr. Thomas MacLaine. Finally you have arrived. You are welcome to come inside."

"Uh- yes, yes, of course," Thomas answered, scurrying back into the squad car as the gates creaked open. Still unsure as to why he'd been summoned to the mansion, he drove up the long, winding path to the impressive front door.

Thomas rang the doorbell, and after a long silence, attempted knocking. At the touch of his hand, the door swung open, revealing the entrance hall. The large, majestic room was empty save an ivory-toned grand piano, a beautiful, well-crafted object that filled Thomas with longing. He'd always wished for his sister's beautiful voice, the freedom to wear her beautiful long hair and silk dresses, and something about the piano drew him closer.

He brushed his fingers over the keyboard cover, and then self-consciously slid it aside, eager to run his fingers over the ivory keys, avoiding the black ones. Suddenly his fingers struck something unexpectedly rough- a piece of notepaper had been left across the keys.

_If its music you enjoy, your finest skills you must employ.   
If you'd like to come to me, play a scale in major C._

Strange as the note was, Thomas couldn't help but smile to himself. This was a game he could play. He pulled the bench away from the keyboard and let his hands drift over the keys, remembering what his mother had taught him as a child.

His right hand found the first C, and effortlessly his long, agile fingers followed suit, tripping right along the keys until the last note sounded. As the echo faded from the room, the floor began to move underneath him, rotating the piano around until he faced not the front door, but an open door leading further into the mansion, a door that had not been there before.

The open door could only have been an invitation and Thomas decided to accept it. A staircase led down into the depths of the mansion, to a wide unlocked door, which fed into a maze of narrow passages. As the door clicked shut behind him, a familiar sound filtered down the hallway- the piano tune that Carol had been playing over and over in their apartment, the song she'd been practicing. Closing his eyes, he focused on where the sound was coming from, following it down the hallway to the open door it came from.

A record player stood unattended in the room, but as Thomas stepped across the threshold, the door slammed shut, locking him in the room. He cried out in surprise, but with no other choices, he put aside his fear to venture further into the room.

The record player occupied the center of the room, but it wasn't the only furniture- there was a lush bed with red silk sheets to his left and a counter that looked like a bar to the right. Thomas ventured further into the room to examine the record player, discovering another note.

_If you'd like to sate my thirst, listen to the final verse.  
Two drinks inspired by this song are what you'll need to get along._

Well, that request seemed simple enough. Thomas had been perfecting a drink that complimented his sister's rendition of the song, one he'd recently started serving at the bar. He reset the needle on the record's edge and circled around to examine the bar- fully stocked with all the best brands. It was certainly a step above what he and Carol stocked the Galaxy of Terror with.

Three parts amaretto, two parts whiskey, one part grenadine combined in a shaker with ice and strained into a martini glass. Gently, Thomas lowered a maraschino cherry into the glass with a spoon and then poured a thin trail of the red syrup through the glass- like a trail of blood through the dark woods.

He mixed the second as carefully as the first, but as he reached for the cherries, a door behind the bar opened and Mr. Stewart's butler emerged. Without speaking, he took the jar from Thomas and offered a cherry against his lips.

Thomas blushed but parted his lips, biting the cherry off of the stem. He stared at the younger man, taken not for the first time by how beautiful he was- as untouchable as he was, he was easily the most attractive man in Greenvale. His perfectly styled dark hair and crisp cream suit exuded power and confidence.

"Call me Michael, if you must." He smirked faintly and took his glass, the one complete with the garnish, and raised it to his own full, tempting lips. "I hope that I will earn your trust."

"Of course… Michael," Thomas answered, reaching for his own drink when Michael caught his hand, holding his wrist until he'd finished his own. Subtle, understated control… the touch set his heartbeat racing. Was this what he'd needed all along?

Once Michael was done with his drink, he offered Thomas's drink to him, his hand still on his wrist, feeling for his pulse point. Thomas bowed his head to meet the glass with his mouth, drinking obediently and licking the last drip off of the rim. As a familiar weakness raced up his spine to cross his cheeks, the height of pleasure that he obtained only when he obeyed his G, he tried to tug away from the other man in panic- what if G knew he was here, doing this? What if Carol knew? Neither of them would approve of this, and he'd be a terrible pet for making them angry. So disobedient. Any punishment G would offer him would be nothing to the shame of having betrayed him.

"Calm yourself, don't run away. I will keep your body safe," Michael ordered, his eyes meeting Thomas's directly for the first time. "Mr. Stewart promised you'd be mine, and all of this is of his design. You've no need to return to G, I can provide as well as he."

Thomas looked away to consider his options without Michael's beauty influencing him. He didn't wonder how the other man knew about G, about his secret life and his most shameful and hidden desires.

"But he's… he's branded me. My tattoo. I can't-"

"Please, Thomas… your fate I'll secure," Michael murmured, brushing his lips over his wrist. "This town is soiled, but you're still pure."

"You… you really think so?" he asked, his eyes lighting up a little. The praise was the opposite of what G always called him… the dirtiest thing in Greenvale. As deeply as he loved G, their life with Carol, it had… recently come to his attention that it might not be the healthiest of relationships. Even deep down, he knew that good lovers just didn't kill diner waitresses.

"No one shines as brightly as you." Michael finally set down the glass, his hand finding Thomas's other wrist as tightly as the first. "Let me heal you. Let me make you anew."

Michael's soft lips met his own, gentle and exacting at the same time, taking control of the kiss with skill and not force. The grip on his wrists relaxed a hair as the kiss deepened, as Michael pressed his well-toned body against his own, before withdrawing entirely, dropping Thomas's hands and pulling back.

"Remove your uniform, and fold it at the foot of the bed." The butler's eyes were stern, and Thomas was only too quick to obey, scurrying over to the bed and untying his tie before attending to his shirt buttons one by one, his fingers trembling.

"Turn to face me, please," Michael corrected, and Thomas anxiously spun to face Michael, tugging his shirt off and folding it, dropping it onto the floor at the location the butler had specified, letting the tie settle on top of it. Then he followed it with his undershirt, shivering a little as his skin was exposed to the cool air. Instinctively, his hands fell to his belt buckle, which he began to unfasten.

"I'd prefer you removed your shoes instead," Michael ordered, crossing the room to watch from a more intimate distance.

"Oh, of course," Thomas answered, sitting on the edge of the bed to untie his shoes and remove his socks, and then standing again to remove his pants and, after a slight hesitation, his boxer shorts.

Michael inspected him for a long moment, tilting his head up with his fingers, examining him. "Very good. Get on the bed, up on your knees."

Thomas obeyed, kneeling on the bed, holding himself still as Michael spread his knees wider apart for him, running his hands up the insides his thighs, fingers against his entrance. He fought to suppress a moan as one of Michael's hands slid up the front of his thigh, skipping over his length and teasing up his stomach to pinch his nipple.

"Oh, yes," Thomas breathed, arching into the touch.

"Be completely still, this is quite key." Michael withdrew his hands from him and caught his wrists again, guiding his hands to the wrought iron headboard and wrapping his fingers around two of the posts for him with ritual precision. "You cannot move your hands, if you'd like to please me."

The iron bars were cold to his touch, though they warmed quickly. Thomas settled into his new position eagerly, ignoring any physical discomfort the pose might have brought him. The thrill of being trusted to maintain submission, to be obedient to the best of his abilities made him feel safe and desired, warmed him in ways that threats and violence never had. He knew as he heard the sound of cloth being folded behind him that this was what he'd always needed.

Michael's wonderfully strong hands returned to his body, tracing over his taut shoulders and back, teasing up over his neck and back down to stroke his hips, down his thighs. His touch was never constant, his hands drawing back just as Thomas tensed in pleasure, or ghosting over sensitive spots, daring him to lose himself and press shamelessly into the stimulation.

The last notes of the song faded and the hands pulled away, a weight lifted from the mattress. There was a silence before the music started again, the same song and yet Thomas didn't move a hair, not even as he heard footsteps cross the room, the familiar sounds of liquor poured from bottles into the shaker and the ice clattering against the stainless steel and the liquid poured back into a glass. Another silence, and then there was a sharp sensation against his back- ice. An ice cube made a trail from his lower back up his spine, and it took almost all of his resolve to keep still against the freezing cold point that traveled back down to tease against his entrance.

All he could see was his knuckles going white against the bars of the headboard as Michael ran the ice cube down his thigh to his knee, back up and pushed it into him just enough to hold him open, his body trying to expel the unwelcome intrusion. A soft chuckle and a trail of liquid joined the cool trail from the ice, poured along his back- and then, more welcome than anything previously, Michael's mouth sucked at his neck and then traveled along his spine, lapping the alcohol off of his spine.

Thomas bit his lip, forcing himself to stay still, to keep obeying Michael's orders as he sucked over his lower back, licking him clean, teasing down over the ice he was holding against his entrance. Mercifully, he replaced the ice with slicked fingers, twisting inside him until they hit precisely the right spot and Thomas tasted his own blood, almost unable to endure the pleasure without a reaction. He trembled with the tension of maintaining the position, of Michael's fingers pleasing him so expertly.

"Bear with me a little longer, my love," Michael purred against his neck, exploiting his prostate with his fingers and his pulse point with his tongue. It was everything Thomas could do not to beg shamelessly for Michael's cock, the heat he felt against his thigh through the younger man's pants. "You're what I've been dreaming of."

Just when Thomas thought he'd betray himself, he'd ruin everything by crying out, by begging or demanding his lover's touch he was left wanting, the fingers and the mouth pulling away and he heard the most welcome sound he'd heard all night- a zipper. And then he was full to capacity, Michael's hips flush against his ass and his whole length inside him, those perfect lips against his shoulder. The firm hands teased over his chest, exploiting his nipples and fondling him as if he had the body he'd always desired.

"Please, show me what you need," was mercy to his ears, and he finally reacted to his touch, his hips rocking back against Michael's, his chest arching into his hands, letting moans escape his lips. Even Michael lost some of his composition, his rhyme scheme relaxing. "You don't know what you do to me," he breathed against his neck.

Michael's merciful hand settled on his cock and stroked him in time with his hips, and Thomas bucked eagerly into his attention, letting his need build, trusting that he'd be allowed to come and not thwarted at the last moment like G was so fond of doing. He heard himself beg "Please, please," against the red silk, and then he shuddered into overwhelming pleasure, losing himself for a few moments as Michael's hand brought him to completion. And then Michael moaned wordlessly into his shoulder, against his shameful tattoo, his hand digging into Thomas's hip hard enough to bruise, filling him before collapsing against his back.

He breathed heavily against his shoulder for a long moment, before reaching up to unclench Thomas's hands from the bars. He pulled Thomas onto his side and fit himself against his back, his strong hands holding Thomas's. It was everything Thomas had ever hoped that G would do for him, all the personal contact and care that he'd needed.

 

Elsewhere in the mansion, Harry Stewart sat pensively at his wall of cameras, watching the young lovers sleep in each other's arms. His master plan was falling into place, and he was certain of his key to success, his proper observation of timing. He'd always known that business was the key to obtaining everything he wanted in this life. Which, for right now, was to satisfy his most base and raw desires.

Too long had he, Harry Stewart, had to venture into Greenvale's diner for his lunch. Now, with the best cook in town secured as Michael's pet, he'd be able to convince him away from his work at the bar and at the sheriff's office and into his employ. Timing was truly everything in this world.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so in love with this fandom right now. And as someone on the Deadly Premonitions forum told me, "I follow the belief that the more slash fanfics a work of fiction has, the greater a success it is. Godspeed, mate."


End file.
